


Dealing With a Detective

by downdeepinside



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mpreg, Not actually porn, Or attempts at humour, Though that summary is a little suggestive isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Five times Sherlock struck a deal with John and one time John struck a deal with Sherlock'.</p><p>Sherlock's pregnant and wants a few things from John... but it's fine as long as he offers something in return, right? Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clothing Catastrophes (1)

**Author's Note:**

> I just realised the summary sounds a little.. kinky, but I promise it's not anything like that, aha.
> 
> This is mpreg so if you don't like don't read. Also I don't own 'Sherlock' or any of the characters from it. Yet. I'm working on it.
> 
> This is un-beta'd and only checked a little, if you see a mistake please do point it out! :-)
> 
> (If anyone out there has read 'When Everything Goes to Hell' I just want to promise it has not been abandoned - it's just I'm quite excited about it so I'm getting a little perfectionist.)

“I’ll strike you a deal.”

John glanced up from his laptop and had to resist the urge to smirk at the sight that greeted him; his partner was dressed in his trade-mark purple shirt and tailored suit trousers, yet today the trousers were not buttoned easily over a flat stomach nor was the shirt clinging to his stick-like form in a really rather attractive and undeniably sexy way. While at first Sherlock’s bump had been almost impossible to notice, and although it still remained rather small (as John had to constantly reassure him) the detective was no magician. At twenty two weeks a too-small shirt and just-right pair of trousers really weren’t going to cut it.

The detective in question cleared his throat and John raised his gaze to be met by a pout, causing him to lose his battle against the chortle working its way up his throat.

“John,” John would never understand how at times Sherlock’s voice could sound the deep sexy baritone of an honest-to-God dragon, while others it sounded like a whiny, petulant teenage girl. “Are you even listening to me?”

The army doctor blinked before shaking his head as if to clear it, “Er, yeah. Of course; a deal?”

Sherlock sighed, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt before flopping down onto John’s lap and causing the man to yelp in both surprise and pain. “None of my clothes fit.”

John blinked carefully again, unsure if there was any way to respond to that without effectively setting himself on fire. Luckily, he didn’t have to. Sherlock let out a huff before (thankfully) pushing himself up off of John’s lap (clearly the position was just as uncomfortable for him as it was for John) and starting to pace, the shirt floating behind his back and making him look like a particularly gravid superhero. “I need something else to wear.”

John suppressed a snort and snapped his laptop shut, resigned that he wouldn’t be going back to his blog any time soon. “I did offer to take you out and buy some maternity clothes last week.” He pointed out, leaning back in his chair into what Sherlock would call his ‘mother-hen position’. Sherlock scowls.

“I’m aware of that, just as you are aware of the fact I have never and will never feel the need to wear anything with an elasticated waste. Not to mention all those disgusting pregnancy tops made of cotton and... ugh. No. No, I need a different solution.”

“Well, I’m assuming you already have something in mind?”

Sherlock finally stopped pacing and turned to look John straight in the eye, “Of course.” He frowned as if a little offended at the idea he might not have a solution, “I don’t need maternity clothes; I just need bigger ones.”

John sighed and waved a hand as if to say ‘carry on, then’.

Sherlock smiles a smile that probably struck fear to the heart of many a nanny when he was younger, “Yours should do.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sherlock’s smile broke into a grin and he wrapped a hand around his slightly swollen stomach, “It’s only logical, I need bigger clothes, yours are bigger. Oh don’t look like that, I’ve met size zero models bigger than me. Besides, it’s only for a few months.”

John opened his mouth to protest that he certainly isn’t as big as Sherlock right now but images of his partner wielding harpoons, guns, and various toxic chemicals flashed to the forefront of his mind and he snapped his mouth shut. “You said you’d strike a deal. You simply stealing my clothes doesn’t sound much like a deal now, does it?”

Sherlock smirked and took a step towards the army doctor, tracing a finger over his shoulder before picking at the oatmeal jumped and scrunching his nose.

“The deal is; you let me wear your clothes, and I’ll take you shopping for something a little less… brown.”

John groaned.

“Fine.”


	2. Sandwich Success (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have recently discovered a multitude of people are subscribed to When Everything Goes to Hell and feel super guilty for being so slow - if anyone one is reading that thank you for your patience and sorry I'm such a bum.
> 
> Have a second chapter of this as a sort of... apology :3

Sherlock was squatting awkwardly by a can of yellow paint; his legs spread a little to accommodate the 29 week old foetus attached to his front. While he was hardy big enough to find everyday things overly challenging, bending over for long intervals had become a no-no. He dipped the paintbrush into the gloopy can of Dulux and then pushed himself up, resting a hand on the wall. It wasn’t until he was standing he realised he’d just made a handprint in the freshly painted wall of what would one day be his child’s first bedroom.

He stared at the wall for a moment in disbelief, before groaning loud enough to attract John’s attention – the army doctor was currently attempting to assemble a crib from Ikea. John looked up and a quick glance at the wall revealed the rather obvious handprint, as well as the pregnant man stood next to it – paint from the brush now dripping onto his trousers – looking rather irate.

“How about you a take a break and try again later?” a loud click had two bits of wood snapping together and John made a pleased sound, “You could help me with this, if you want?”

Sherlock blinked and dropped the paint brush on the floor, no regard for the splatter it made on his socks, “I want a sandwich.”

John sighed, placing the bits of wood he was juggling down on the floor and leaning back against the wall so he could stretch his legs a little, “What am I supposed to do about that?”

Sherlock’s frown deepened and he rested a hand on his belly, sticking it out a little to emphasise his point, “I thought you were meant to be happily waiting on me hand and foot, since I’m carrying _your_ child?” he rubbed a small circle with his hand, most probably unconsciously but John could never be sure, and sighed dramatically, “Get me a sandwich.”

“Sherlock, I’m kind of busy right now. Can’t you make your own?”

Sherlock blinked deliberately again, before his bottom lip started to wobble and he looked as if he were about to cry. John groaned inwardly before jumping up off the floor and resting a hand on Sherlock’s arm, “Look, how about we just take a break for a bit? You could probably use a moment to sit down.”

“I’m not an invalid, John.”

“I know but you’re carrying-”

“I’m not fat, either! That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? Say I’m carrying a bit of extra weight, it’s _your_ bloody child you imbecile!”

John silently prayed to the Gods to give him strength. By the time he opened his eyes again Sherlock’s were wide and he was grinning: Bloody hormones.

“I know – how about a deal?”

John pulled in a breath and pushed it out slowly on a count of ten. “A deal?”

“If you make me a sandwich, I’ll finish that crib for you.”

John resisted the urge to point out that Sherlock was as good at DIY as Mycroft was at dieting.

“Are you sure? Some bits are rather-”

“I’m _not_ an _invalid_.”

John raised his hands and acquiesced, “Alright, alright. Cheese and tomato ketchup?”

Sherlock grinned and turned away in answer, making himself surprisingly comfortable on the floor. John sighed and retreated down the stairs in defeat.

When he returned ten minutes later Sherlock was sound asleep against the wall, none of the crib pieces had moved an inch.


	3. Work Worries (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stepping up the rating to T simply because sex is implied, aha.

John slammed the door to 221 shut and sprinted up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time despite the fact his shorter legs meant it burned to do so. He pushed the door open and paused for only a moment to suck in a long breath before calling out to his 32 week pregnant mate.

“Sherlock?” a pause to pant and lick his lips, “Sherlock I’m sorry I,” another long breath, “I got distracted.”

The sound of a certain pregnant man swinging his feet onto the floor resonated through the flat, followed by several heavy footsteps. John pulled off his jacket and threw it down onto the sofa just as Sherlock sauntered in, a silk pair of grey boxer shorts snugly fitted and hanging just below his bump. He smelt distinctly of leather aftershave and wore an incredibly peeved expression on his face. John tried his best to look humble rather than hungry as he glanced at his partner.

“You _promised_.”

John rubbed the back of his elbow with his hand and lifted a shoulder apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. Just work dragged on and Sarah was really-”

“Sarah?” Sherlock’s frown deepened as he took three steps to the sofa and retrieved John’s discarded jacket, pulling it on – presumably his clothes were in the bedroom and he had no desire to leave right now. “We had _plans_ , but instead you stayed at work, _failed_ to text me, and your excuse is that you were ‘busy’ with the woman you _know_ is infatuated with you?”

John blinked, “Sherlock that was-”

The detective exploded, “Don’t use that nonsense on me! Don’t say it was years ago! Love doesn’t just – poof! You aren’t going to stop loving me after a few years, are you? Are you?” he took a breath but John didn’t get a chance to interrupt, “I know I won’t stop loving you just because an allotted time period is up! Even though you’ve been promising for a week that we’d have tonight together and then when it finally came to it you were at work while I was lying in bed waiting for you like some sort of _prostitute_!”

At some point during his rant Sherlock had given up standing proudly and had instead sunk down onto the sofa. His voice was loud and harsh enough that it didn’t really alter the effect of his angry words, John felt truly rubbish by the time he was done talking.

“Are you done?”

It wasn’t the most tactful question, but living with Sherlock had taught John that tact wasn’t really necessary with someone who could practically read your mind.

Sherlock pulled John’s jacket tighter around him, a sign he needed some sort of physical contact, and sunk lower into the sofa, “Uhuh.”

John nodded to himself before sitting next to Sherlock and wrapping an arm round his shoulders, pulling the younger man closer to his body. “You know there’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Sarah, right?”

A long pause, before Sherlock’s hair tickled John’s nose and the detective hummed a quiet ‘yes’.

“And you know I’ll always love you?”

Less of a pause before John felt a chaste press of lips to his chin and a slightly louder ‘obvious’.

John smiled and buried his nose into Sherlock’s hair, enjoying the scent there. “I’m sorry I was late, I should have texted. Work just drags on like that sometimes and you know we need the money for this little one.” Sherlock shifted until he could wrap his arms around John’s middle, and at the mention of their baby his arms tightened minutely.

“Can we,” Sherlock paused as he felt a kick to his ribcage and he sighed, “Can we make a deal?”

John huffed out a light laugh and happily agreed.

“No work from 37 weeks.”

John sighed a little, as if he’d ever intended to work with Sherlock so close to his due date, and rubbed Sherlock’s shoulder lightly with one hand, “Of course.”


	4. Food Fiascos (4)

As a doctor, and partner to one very pregnant man, John knew quite a bit about pregnancy. He knew all about the baby’s development through the months, as well as how a carrier might be affected by the small person growing inside of them. That didn’t meant he wasn’t more than a little concerned to note his partner’s eating habits by week 36.

Besting his promise to Sherlock, John had been able to leave work at 36 weeks (with just a week to go before their baby was considered full term) and the diligent doctor had spent the first three days of his leave smiling patiently as his pregnant detective insisted to continue doing small tasks that were far too challenging with such a girth, as well as cooking frequent small meals for the detective who claimed anything larger was uncomfortable with the baby dropping. Surprisingly, Sherlock’s pregnancy was following all the books, and not only was baby facing the right direction but dropping right on cue – much to Sherlock’s annoyance. He claimed to have heard of woman that said when their baby dropped it felt like carrying a bowling ball between their legs, and was naturally not eager to experience the same.

John had happily made Sherlock between four and seven meals a day for three days. It was on the fourth day he was forced to query his beloved’s eating habits.

“‘Lock?”

Sherlock looked up from the box of noodles he was poking at, balanced precariously on his belly, and swallowed his mouthful loudly. “Mhm?”

John pulled in a breath and perched on the edge of the sofa by the detective’s feet.

“Something you wanted to say?” The question was posed round another mouthful of food.

“I – eh, it’s just… it’s three in the afternoon.”

Sherlock blinked, before shoving the fork into his mouth and raising an eyebrow.

“And that’s your fifth bowl of noodles today.”

Once again, Sherlock only blinked. John sucked in a quick breath and went for broke, “Don’t you think maybe you should cut back a little?”

The bowl of noodles crashed to the floor and Sherlock’s forehead furrowed before he kicked John into a standing position, clearly unable to stand himself without assistance. John winced before the detective’s mouth had even opened, “Are you saying I’m fat?”

John had always known Sherlock was a relatively vain man, but the past few months of pregnancy had revealed just how deep this love of his own reflection ran. “You know that’s not what I’m saying,”

“So you’re just telling me to stop eating? Let myself and our baby starve?”

John was quickly beginning to regret starting down this line of questioning, “You know that’s not what I’m saying, love. Just… it wouldn’t hurt to watch what you’re eating. You don’t want to make yourself unwell.”

Sherlock snorted before picking up a noodle that had previously fallen from the bowl off of his belly and rather inelegantly dropping it into his mouth, “I’m 36 weeks pregnant.”

John sighed, “I’m aware of that,”

“I could be going into labour any day now; I need to keep my strength up.”

“Technically,” John bent over to pick up the bowl, scooping debris into it as he did so, “You aren’t due for another three weeks.”

“No one’s ever born the day they’re due.”

“Ah, well, no, but,”

Sherlock shuffled a little and then grunted heavily before planting his feet on the floor, “How about a deal?”

John glanced down at the bowl in his hands and envisaged weeks upon weeks of noodle making ahead of him, “Of course.”

“I’ll carry this baby, and suffer through hours of pain, and shove it out into the world to meet your sorry ass; in exchange for permission to eat whatever and whenever I want. Does that sound fair?”

John decided it was time to re-evaluate how he approached conversations with his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're lucky I might post Sherlock's final deal today :3


	5. Transition Terror (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been in labour (shockingly) so sorry if this is inaccurate...

Sherlock emitted a harsh sound; it started out as a grunt and escalated into a sort of shout-scream. He panted heavily and reached out a hand, which John instinctively took hold of. He let out another huff of air before collapsing onto the pillow behind him and releasing John’s hand to allow all his muscles to relax.

Sherlock had been in labour for almost ten hours, having been in active labour just shy of four. Much to his discomfort, he was only 8cm dilated.

The transition period promised to be unpleasant, to say the least.

“John!”

John pulled his gaze away from Sherlock’s heaving stomach and looked up to the man himself, who’s head was propped up on three pillows and knees spread wide to allow the midwife to keep an eye on him. The detective had selected a home delivery, and while John wasn’t thrilled with the idea, he understood the sentiment behind it. If John could treat the man’s broken arm at home then a midwife could help the man through labour at home. A hand was thrust at John’s chest and he blinked in confusion for a second, bewildered by the entire experience, before taking Sherlock’s hand and squeezing tightly.

“You’re doing great, love. Just a bit more and you can start pushing, alright?”

Sherlock whimpered, his response cut off as another more intense wave of pain overtook him. He shifted a little in blatant discomfort and squeezed his eyes shut, panting heavily. John could only rub his hand and murmur words of praise in the hope something would get through. After a few minutes Sherlock relaxed again and blinked his eyes open.

“I can’t do this.”

Sherlock’s voice sounded incredibly small and the midwife, who had just swung into the room with a bowl of cool water and a few cloths, immediately pursed her lips and shook her head, giving John a look that rather clearly said ‘support him or I swear to god I’ll kill you’.

John smiled nervously and pulled up a chair, sitting as close to Sherlock as possible without crawling into bed with him, “Don’t be silly, of course you can.”

There was a light snort from the corner of room, though no one heard it.

“John it _hurts too much_. Can’t you just do it?”

John chuckled lightly and shook his head, using his free hand to rub lightly at Sherlock’s shoulder as the man tensed again, “Come on, you’re doing brilliant. Absolutely marvellous. Just breathe, Sherlock,” the detective pulled in a long breath as instructed and slowly pushed it out through his teeth, “See? You’re wonderful.”

“It,” Sherlock pulled in a breath and pushed it out again, just the same, “Fucking,” another set of breaths and a small whimper, “ _Hurts_.”

The midwife finally piped up, depositing a few cool wet cloths my John’s feet. The doctor rung one out and swiped at his partners face as the woman spoke, “Now Sherlock, I’m just going to have a look at you, but since you’re in transition you might find it a little easier if we got you on all fours.” Sherlock gave a harsh grunt, “It could ease a little of the pressure on your back and make pushing that bit easier.”

Sherlock arched into the cool touch of John’s hand on his forehead and stayed quiet for a moment, before tensing and growling, “Fine.”

John tried not to let his surprise show as Sherlock actually listened to advice from another doctor, as well as act as if the way Sherlock barley batted an eyelid at the lady pocking around his downstairs was perfectly normal.

“But, John?”

The army doctor hummed, once again rubbing circles on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“How about one last deal?”

John’s lips quirked into a smile and he pressed a light kiss to Sherlock’s sweaty cheek, “Of course, love.”

“If I do this this time,” Sherlock squeaked a little, as if the pain took him by surprise, “You have to promise to do it next time.”

“Do what?”

Sherlock’s forehead tensed and he shut his eyes, riding out the last of the contraction, “Pregnancy. Labour. All of it.”

John’s eyes widened considerably at the terrifying thought of being in his partner’s position and he shook his head to clear the images from it before leaning in closer still and pressing more kisses to his love’s face, “How about we wait to meet this little on first, eh?”

He wasn’t sure if Sherlock’s growl was at the indefinite answer, or due to the effort of having to heave himself into a different position. 


	6. Moonlight Milk (+1)

The wail of an infant had John blinking blearily awake, and the forceful shove of his sleeping partner had him landing heavily on the floor and muffling a loud curse.

“M’John?” Sherlock yawned, his eyes still closed as he rolled over to face where the father of his child now sat on the floor, “What’reyoudoing?”

John sighed, rubbing his elbow before stretching and slowly pushing himself off of the floor. “I _was_ getting up to feed Issy, unless you’re volunteering?”

Sherlock cracked an eye open and looked up at John, before glancing at the alarm clock, and looking back to him like he was a crazy person, “It’s three in the morning.”

“I’m not sure she cares, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked and rubbed an eye, pushing himself up a little in the bed and crinkling his nose, “Feels weird.”

John smiled, aware Sherlock was talking about his now empty (but still a little inflated) belly, “Yes, the doctors said to expect a little tenderness for a few days.”

Sherlock nodded, looking down contemplatively at his stomach. John decided to leave him to his own thoughts and took a few steps round the bed to the pale pink crib standing at the foot, housing their tiny baby girl. He picked her up and hushed a few nonsensical sounds to her before looking up to the still befuddled Sherlock.

“She only ate two hours ago.”

John chuckled lightly and nodded, putting off the feeding for a moment as his daughter seemed content to snuggle down in his arms, “And we’re pretty darn lucky she’s slept ever since.”

More blearily blinking followed on Sherlock’s part and John sighed, taking a few steps towards the man and planting a kiss on his forehead, “You look cream-cracked, love. You just go to sleep; I can do this one on my own.”

Sherlock’s mouth twisted, as if he were about to object to the notion that John was capable of both making and feeding their daughter a bottle of milk, before huffing and flopping back into bed, almost instantly falling back to sleep. John grinned and bounced his little girl in his arms before turning on his heel and heading out to the kitchen. With the skill of a man who’d practiced (and, yes, Sherlock really had made him practice) John sterilized a bottle and fixed up some formula, all with the baby still firmly held by his side.

He flicked the lid off and (after a little awkward manoeuvring) Issy eagerly latched on to the bottle. Tiredness suddenly caught up with him and he sat down on a kitchen stool, rubbing his forehead and resisting the urge to fall asleep there and then.

After a burping and a nappy change John shuffled back to the bedroom, placing Issy back in her cot before falling into his own bed. As his head hit the pillow Sherlock grunted and rolled over, throwing an arm protectively over his body.

“Sheokay?”

The slurred words took John by surprise, although he barely had enough energy to flinch. Instead he sighed, his eyes already shut and mind halfway to the land of nod. “Uhuh.”

Sherlock hummed contentedly, his legs curling up around his chest so they brushed John’s side.

“Sh’lock?”

“Hmm?”

“My turn for a deal.”

Sherlock yawned loudly and both men froze for a second, afraid Issy might awake. The notion was, of course, absurd: She wouldn’t wake if a bomb hit the very building she rested in.

“Shoot.”

John licked his lips and turned his head towards Sherlock, “Next feed’s yours.”

Sherlock grunted again, “S’long as she sleeps till ten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished something! Whoot - I hope you liked it, it was quite fun to write :3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated :-)


End file.
